Page 20 of The Duke's Stolen Heart
Frustration blossomed inside her. Months of careful cultivation had come to naught. People talked. In her experience, small communities of like-minded individuals like metalsmiths and jewelers were bigger gossips than the most empty-headed ladies of London society. They had to be. Newspapers didn’t print the niche information that helped them to navigate a world filled with cheats and raw competition. Understanding didn’t make the facts any easier to swallow.
“I wish you luck, Mr. Smith.” Antonia scooped the stack of coins into her gloved palm.
“And I, you, Mr. Lowe.”
Two anonymous names bidding farewell to one another, forever. The fact ought not to put her in such a foul mood, but Antonia’s hand shook with anger as she fumbled the lock open at her secret hiding place a few minutes later. She had been careless enough to forget to watch for followers. Mr. Smith had been kind to her at a time when many had not.
Once she had shed her gloves, overcoat and jacket, Antonia unpinned her braid from where she had coiled it on top of her head and lay back on the comfortless bed in her cold room. The script on the envelope was hardly legible. It was a miracle the letter had reached her after at all. Antonia broke the cracked wax seal and unfolded the paper. A collection of paper money spilled onto her stomach. Antonia squinted to decipher the words.
Princess,
Whatever you did to get so much money I wish you’d stop doing it. I won’t have a thing to do with funds earned by stealing. Cyrus ain’t inclined to welcome you home until you mend your wicked ways, either, so don’t come.
We are keeping as little as we can ONLY for your brother Earl’s wedding and your sister’s newborn.
Queenie
Antonia smiled faintly at her mother’s letter. Dictated, surely, for her mother was as literate as a barn cat. Mrs. Beckwith had taught Antonia the basics of the alphabet and the way letters formed words. From there, her education had been catch-as-catch-can. She shuffled through the rectangles her mother had returned to her. Mama had kept a little over half of the sixty dollars she had sent. It was more than many people earned in a year.
“I wish you had kept it all,” she whispered into the cold air. Since there was no use in fighting her mother’s perpetual disapproval, Antonia sat up and slipped the rolled bills into the hiding place above the mantel. Quickly, she dressed in her men’s clothing again, checking to ensure the glued-on hairs had not been displaced during her brief respite.
No one looked askance at her at the bank, where Antonia withdrew more money than she had ever held in her two hands, tucked them into her breast pocket and returned again to her secret room. There, she concealed a portion of the bills in her corset and donned the woolen gown she had arrived in. On the street, a few startled glances reminded her that she had forgotten to remove the false mustache and hairy eyebrows. Antonia turned to a window, snagged a handful of gray snow from the sill and scrubbed at her face until the space between her upper lip and her nostrils had turned bright pink. She plucked most of the stray eyebrow hairs and scattered them as she walked, crossing her own path twice to be certain of losing any tails. She couldn’t afford to be so careless again. Once on the main thoroughfare she clambered into a hansom cab and rode back to Mayfair. Two blocks from the Evendaw’s townhouse, Antonia paid the driver and scurried up the road as though she had been on an innocent visit to a friend. Not that she had any.
“You’re back!” Margaret exclaimed when she entered the foyer. “I was beginning to wonder if you had left us permanently. Again.”
“Not without a goodbye, Maggie dear.” Antonia bent to air-kiss her friend’s cheek. Liquid heat scalded the insides of her eyelids. It felt strange and unfamiliar to receive a genuine welcome home. “I promised you that.”
Antonia knew her word was only so much hot air, though the longer she could prevent Margaret from discovering that fact, the better chance she had at pulling off this mad caper with Havencrest. Freedom glimmered just out of reach. In the meantime, the sudden infusion of money lent much-needed credibility to her story that she had left behind in America to seek her future in Europe after a grand heartbreak. Though Lady Evendaw remained polite, she radiated disapproval of Margaret’s extended houseguest.
For example, the sharp gaze with which she pinned Antonia as they settled in for a light dinner with Margaret’s brother and sister-in-law.
“We have been invited to attend a gathering at the Keswick’s this evening. This will be a good opportunity for you to encourage a suitor or two. I needn’t remind you that freshening your wardrobe each season is not a luxury you may look forward to indefinitely.” Lady Evendaw raised one eyebrow over their soup. Antonia fixed her gaze on the fine china. Failing to find a husband during one’s first season was hardly a disaster—especially for an earl’s sister. Why such pressure?
“I shall give it my best try,” Margaret vowed. Her chin acquired a downward crescent-shaped crease in the center, however. Her entire posture wilted without ever slumping.
“This may be the evening you meet a beau whose company you enjoy,” Antonia said encouragingly. Her heart did an uncomfortable twist, almost as if she pitied the girl whose affections she had exploited for months in exchange for free lodging. When Margaret pushed back her chair and left her dessert uneaten, Antonia followed. “I meant to reassure you, Maggie dear.”
Antonia caught her accent slipping briefly into the cadence of the American south and winced.
“I know. It isn’t you who frustrates me. All I want is to enjoy this brief time before I take on the responsibilities of a wife and mother. Each time I waltz I feel them sizing up my suitor for the size of his purse and how quickly they can get me to the altar. I don’t understand why my brother is so desperate to be rid of me.”
“What if you chose the worst man possible and let him court you?” asked Antonia, thinking. “Would they stand back?”
“Probably. But the ‘worst man’ isn’t likely to let me linger in London for long either and I’ve no interest in being wed to a penniless husband. Unless it’s for true love,” Margaret sighed. “The kind I doubt I shall ever have an opportunity to experience considering the way my brother seeks to auction me off to the first bidder.”
At that moment, the butler interrupted their drawing-room tête-à-tête. “His Grace, the Duke of Havencrest, to see Miss Antonia Lowry.”
Antonia groaned. Couldn’t the man keep their arrangement quiet for a single moment? How many times did she have to remind him to be more circumspect?
An awful, brilliant idea popped into Antonia’s mind. “What about Havencrest?”
Margaret’s eyes widened.
“Why not? He is rich, powerful, and handsome.”
Margaret stared at her as if Antonia had said something peculiar. “Handsome? Him?”
In an intimidating sort of way.It hadn’t occurred to Antonia that others might find his appearance severe. The idea that her fascination with the man had blinded her to the stark planes of his features made her stomach drop out. Antonia clapped her hands to cover her discomfort. The butler regarded her warily. “Lady Margaret will be pleased to see his lordship. Show him in.”
